“I loved it,” Morrison replied very low, and after a moment he added:
“Better than any of our other bathes.”
Elsie had never before conducted any one of her numerous love-affairs in a key so reticent, and the very novelty of the experience rendered it strange and precious.
Subconsciously, they might both be waiting for the spoken word, but on the surface each was supremely contented in the present.
The presence of Geraldine did not disturb Elsie in the least. Geraldine had been jealous of her intermittently ever since the days of their earliest childhood, and her manifestations of temper were always latent, rather than active. Elsie was used to them, and indifferent to them.
Besides, Leslie Morrison was always very nice to Geraldine. He sat between the sisters at the entertainments to which they went frequently, he gave chocolates and sweets to Geraldine oftener than to Elsie, and he was always ready to talk of Geraldine’s favourite topic, the old days in the office.
Only his dark eyes sought Elsie’s face with increasing frequency, his pleasant young voice altered slightly and indescribably when he found himself alone with her.
It seemed part of the magic of those enchanted days that Geraldine should make no scene, Horace Williams appear to perceive nothing.
On Sunday evening a band played in the public gardens. They decided to go and hear it.
Then Williams developed his mysterious symptoms, and refused to come out.